


"Yeah, I'm good."

by MiraclesAndObstacles



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 08:39:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8660179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraclesAndObstacles/pseuds/MiraclesAndObstacles
Summary: The one where Mario Götze's iCloud gets hacked.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, a short one shot about one of my favorite pairings to celebrate the fact that Reus is back on the pitch!
> 
> Hope you like it.

“Uh, we’re in trouble.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My iCloud got hacked.”

That’s how Marco’s day starts.

 

*

 

If there’s one way Marco didn’t expect to come out of the closet, it was by some faceless stranger hacking his boyfriend’s iCloud.

 

He didn’t actually expect to come out at all, before Mario this wasn’t — Marco had had a plan — but then Mario came along and blew that all to pieces. Marco didn’t expect to fall in love with his teammate; didn’t expect that his teammate would fall in love with him. None of what he has now was part of his plan.

And Marco’s okay with that, really.

It’s just—

 

He doesn’t want to lose any of this now that he’s got it.

Marco knows he’s not actually going to lose anyone, at least, not anyone important to him. Family and friends all know, and he and Mario have always worked on the basis that it’s no-one else’s business, but now — now everyone knows, and Marco really has no idea how to even start to deal with that.

 

Rubbing a hand over his face, Marco shakes his head, picks up his phone to check it, and when he sees he’s got way too many messages to deal with, he drops it on the couch and heads to the garage.

 

Instead of heading out the door to the pitch nearest his house, which would be the one in the park in front of his house, Marco takes the short drive down to the training center.

 

He doesn’t need a challenge today; what he needs is to be out on the pitch to try and make his own peace with what’s happened. It’s selfish, he knows that.

 

Right now Mario’s probably in an emergency meeting with his manager, and whoever else is involved in Mario’s life right now.

 

Marco could be there. Should probably be there.

 

Mario knows how Marco deals with things; all but gave him his blessing to hide away from this until there was a plan. Still, part of Marco feels guilty. Running faster, dribbling more precise and shooting harder Marco tries to blend everything out for at least a while.

 

Marco’s content for a while, letting the gentle wind mess up his hair. The fresh air fills his lungs, sweat drips in his face and helps his mind relax.

It’s almost meditative for him, and his entire body loses the tension it’s been holding since Mario called him.

 

The sun’s high in the sky, and Marco could stay out there a little longer, but his stomach rumbles, reminding him he’s had nothing but coffee so far today and he starts to head out.

 

He’s exhausted by the time he reaches his car, and after getting his things inside, draining the bottle of water he keeps in the cooler, Marco leans against the car and rubs a hand over his face.

 

There’s decisions being made without him, probably, in the office of Mario’s manager and it leaves him uneasy; despite it being part of the industry, he’s never been comfortable with people managing his life for him.

 

*

 

When he gets home, Marco grabs a bag of pita chips and some dip from the fridge and reluctantly picks up his phone. He returns a few calls to his family, texts his actual friends, and he’s about to call Mario when his phone lights up, Mario’s name flashing on his screen.

 

“Hey,” Marco says, walking over to the couch and sitting down. “What did Maria say?”

 

“That she trusts us to handle it.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like Maria.”

 

“Yeah, I—look, I’m on my way home if these fucking cars ever move. Fuck,” Mario sighs. “Why did we decide we wanted to live in the center of the city?”

 

“Uh, I decided I wanted to live in the center and you never left.”

 

“Like you ever wanted me to leave.”

 

“Cute, Sunny, cute. How far out are you?”

 

“At least forty minutes,” Mario says. “Order from Pizza Hut’s?”

 

Marco answers in the affirmative before they say their goodbyes.

 

In the short time they’ve been on the phone, he’s amassed more texts from various friends and acquaintances and, seriously, whoever is sending him links to Bild is getting blocked.

 

The photos aren’t anything scandalous; there’s no nudity, no sexting, it’s just... Mario’s life.

And Mario’s life happens to be Marco’s life, for the most part. Marco can’t help but think that if they weren’t two guys, it wouldn’t be getting nearly as much attention as it is.

 

*

 

Mario comes crashing through the door an hour later, already complaining about traffic and shitty drivers.

 

Marco catches him before he’s even slipped out of his sneakers and presses a firm kiss against Mario’s mouth.

 

“I like this welcome home,” Mario says, his arm creeping around Marco’s waist. His mouth brushes against Marco’s cheek when he turns his head, resting against Marco’s shoulder. “Today was fucked up.”

 

“Could’ve been worse.”

 

“We were outed to the world, Woody, how could it have been worse?” Mario asks, leaning against Marco and making him take his weight.

 

“We weren’t naked.”

 

“You’re not funny.”

 

“Come on, Pizza Hut’s arrived before you did.”

 

Mario huffs, removing himself from Marco, and they walk through to the kitchen. Marco grabs some beers, and they head out onto the balcony, settling in the slightly worn chairs that were there when Marco bought the place.

They haven’t broken yet, so Marco’s not getting rid of them.

 

“Hopefully there aren’t photographers hiding in the park,” Mario mumbles around a mouthful of pizza.

 

“Eat your food, Sunny, stop freaking out.”

 

Mario eyes Marco suspiciously. “Did you smoke up before I got here? You’re eerily calm about this.”

 

“Mario.”

 

“What? The whole world knows, but I can’t make a joke?”

 

Picking up his beer, Marco takes a long swig from it. “What did Maria say?”

 

“Not much,” Mario says with a shrug. “She said we should talk about it—you and me, not me and her — and go from there.”

 

“It’s out there, I don’t know what more we need to do. Do you want to do anything about it?”

 

“It’s not like I want to do a glossy spread in Bild, but I don’t want those photos to be all that’s out there.”

 

“So, what? Dinner where we know we’ll get photographed?”

 

Mario shakes his head and looks out at the park; Marco follows his gaze, staring out at the lights. He’s been living in this area for years, and yet he’s never going to get tired of this view, the feeling of peace that comes over him whenever he catches a glimpse of the park.

 

“I don’t want to,” Mario says slowly, his fingers wrapped around the neck of his beer. “But I don’t — there isn’t anything else we can do.”

 

Marco pauses with his pizza slice halfway to his mouth. “Yes there is.”

 

“What?”

 

“There is something else we can do,” he says, cramming the chip in his mouth and wiping his hand on his shorts. Grabbing his phone, Marco gestures to Mario with one hand. “Come here,” he says after swallowing.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Come here.”

 

“I don’t—”

 

“Mario, get your ass over here,” Marco says impatiently, patting his lap.

 

“You know you look real creepy when you do that, right?” Mario says, sitting sideways on Marco’s lap, awkwardly balancing his beer between his thighs. “What now?”

 

“Now, we take a photo.”

 

“No.”

 

“What?”

 

“You say photo, you mean selfie.”

 

Marco laughs at the look on Mario’s face; his eyes are wide, and he’s leaning backwards as if somehow that takes him out of range of the phone. “Sunny, you said you wanted to do something else.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, this is something else,” Marco says, his hand idly stroking a pattern up and down Mario’s thigh. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

 

“No,” Mario says, gently butting his forehead against the side of Marco’s head. “It makes sense, I guess.”

 

Marco turns his head, catching Mario’s mouth with his own, kissing Mario softly until he feels him start to relax. The day hasn’t been great, far from it, but having Mario with him in this moment makes up for everything.

 

“Take your photo, then,” Mario says when they part, shamelessly cuddling up to Marco, a flush spreading across his cheekbones.

 

It’s not a perfect photo; Marco’s hair is mussed from playing football, the wind, and Mario’s hands, and Mario’s kind of squinting at the camera because of the sun setting, but it’s them, and that’s enough.

 

Marco quickly writes a caption, posts it to his somewhat neglected Instagram account and then it’s done. They’re officially out.

 

“Huh,” he says quietly, mostly to himself.

 

“What?”

 

“Thought this would feel bigger,” Marco says, one arm wrapped around Mario’s waist. “But it doesn’t.”

 

“Well,” Mario says, leaning back against Marco’s chest, his hand curling over Marco’s arm. “The people we care about already knew. This was, like, admin.”

 

“Admin?”

 

“Yeah. Like filling out an HR form or something.”

 

“What the fuck, Mario?” Marco says, laughing. “An HR form?”

 

“Shut up, okay, it’s a metaphor.”

 

“Get off me and finish your pizza,” Marco says, removing his arm and shoving Mario gently.

 

Mario laughs, clambering off Marco, his beer in one hand. Leaning against the balcony, he looks out at the ocean. “This is pretty cool,” he says before swigging from his beer.

 

“What is?” Marco asks, getting up to join Mario.

 

“That we, you know, can have this. All of this.” Picking at the label on his bottle, Mario shrugs, shooting a tight smile at Marco. “We’re pretty lucky.”

 

“Yeah,” Marco says, nudging Mario with his elbow. “We really are.”

 

*

 

The Instagram photo ends up splashed all over Bild, and the following week Marco and Mario allow themselves to get photographed at Starbucks in Dortmund which rids them of most of the paparazzi.

 

Despite Mario’s increased fame, they’re not really that interesting to photographers; more interested in football games than parties or events; only emerging into the German spotlight when they absolutely have to, and not letting their publicists leak anything to the press.

 

“Maria wants to know if you’re coming to the award ceremony,” Mario says as they’re walking through the park, taking advantage of a free afternoon for the both of them.

 

“Do you want me there?”

 

“I’d like it,” Mario says as they duck under a tree, heading towards a calmer part of the park. “If you don’t come, they’ll just ask where you are.”

 

Marco looks down at their joined hands; the novelty of walking around in public with Mario like this still hasn’t worn off. Neither of them are much for PDA, but simple things like this bring a happiness and peace to Marco that he didn’t know he was missing.

 

“Yeah,” he says eventually, as they pause to watch people working out on the rings. “I’ll come.”

 

*

 

There’s a set routine to all award ceremonies, and Marco knows it. He’s quite happy to hang back and watch Mario work the press line, catching his eye every now and then when Mario turns to seek him out.

 

Occasionally the press try and drag him in, but Marco waves them off, pointing at Mario and talking about how it’s his night. It’s been years of doing these events, and still Marco feels awkward and out of place at them.

 

He can put on a loaned suit, get his hair set right, but deep down he still feels like the nerdy teenager with bad skin and a growth spurt making him all skinny arms and legs.

 

Still, Mario wanted him here, so he’s here. When Mario’s done with the press line and joins him, Marco’s almost blinded by the flashes from cameras. It’s somewhat overwhelming to know that the photos from tonight will be online before they’ve even made it home, and it makes him hold Mario’s hand just a little tighter than he was doing.

 

“You good?” Mario asks quietly, turning his head to speak directly into Marco’s ear.

 

“Yeah,” Marco says with a smile. “I’m good.”

 

There’s yelling from the crowd of photographers, demanding a kiss, and Marco laughs, trying to hide his nervousness. Mario’s looking at him with a questioning gaze, the yells get louder, and—

 

*

 

The kiss means they trend on Twitter for three hours.

 

Mario finds it hilarious.


End file.
